I’m ready for the win­ter. To be reborn with the first snow­fall that cov­ers the grass, awash in muf­fled serenity.

Time is mea­sured in weeks, not by the cycle of day and night, and this makes every­thing pass at a blis­ter­ing pace. The good weeks involve bacon break­fasts and peo­ple bring­ing me food and new projects and Magic nights. The bad ones involve bat­tles with my old arch neme­sis, acne, and his side-kick, scarring-on-my-fucking-nose.

I’ve been deal­ing with this over­whelm­ing sense that any­thing can change. So much has left me feel­ing like there’s no cer­tainty any­more. Maybe that’s why I’ve stopped dream­ing. I have no idea what to expect from the future, and I don’t know if that scares me or gives me hope.

To stop myself from think­ing about it too much, I dis­tract with all the right things and few of the wrong ones. It’s a frag­ile form of sta­bil­ity. Some days, the strings, they don’t do enough.

The ‘few of the wrong ones’ brought my mind round to the “smoke yer mar­i­juanica” line of Adam Sandler’s that I just heard today.… Channuka being around the corner…

I feel this uncer­tainty all the time too. Even though I’m attached and have crit­ters, I have shift­ing dreams full of strange peo­ple I don’t know instead of that one per­son I used to con­stantly care about. I even was an English per­son with an English accent in a dream recently. It’s like even I myself am a shift­ing per­son who I don’t know.

I do think to some extent every­one feels this though.… and I think par­ents must feel par­tic­u­larly at a loss when their chil­dren look to them for answers. But the great thing is that stuff that’s still immensely pos­i­tive can still drop in unan­nounced. And it does.